


words (you say it first)

by dansunedisco



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Established Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fights, Future Fic, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: The fight is explosive.-Written for Philkas Week, Day 4 - breakup.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) *several days late* whoops
> 
> 2) this is angst-heavy but the ending /is/ happy /sorrynotsorry
> 
> :'D

The fight is explosive. Raised voices, crying, pacing around the room, hair-tugging explosive -- and the looming finality of Philip’s whispered, “I don’t know _what_ I want anymore,” after Lukas asks sucks all the air out of their little apartment like a flash fire. It’s the worst argument they’ve ever been in, and, by the end of it, Lukas is drained; sits on the edge of the bed -- _their_ bed -- with his head in his hands, lungs burning from the effort he’s putting in not to scream. It’s been six years. Six good years. High school and college and the year Philip deferred for an internship in London. And now…

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” Philip said, eyes wet and shiny with unshed tears, and Lukas doesn’t know what he wants either, but he knows it sure as hell isn’t _this._ Him, without the words to patch everything up brand new. Philip, across the room and a million miles away.

When he was seventeen and fresh in love, Lukas never thought about the end of the fairy tale. Back then, he supposes, there wasn’t one; just an endless asphalt road that fed into the perfect red-gold sunset, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, forever and ever. But reality isn’t so sweet as it is harsh, and the permanence he’s been comfortable in -- the apartment, the joint bank account, the _cat_ \-- crumbled under the weight of a single sentence.

He drops his hands between his knees. He wants to look up, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s fear, plain and simple; he’s been scared of losing Philip for so long now it’s become ingrained, and he doesn’t want to see whatever expression is waiting for him on Philip’s face.

He finds his voice after a long moment; says, “I should go.” He doesn’t know where, but the idea of being anywhere but here sinks into his skin like a dog on a bone, and he grabs what he needs -- keys, wallet, phone, jacket, helmet -- and slips out the front door and into the cold air. He waits on the welcome mat, but Philip didn’t shadow him, doesn’t come out to stop him or ask him where he’s going or what the fuck’s gotten into him, and that almost, _almost_ hurts as much as a bullet to the chest.

 

 

 

Lukas drives aimlessly around the city; the roads are wet and icy in some stretches, and it takes all of his experience and concentration to weave through traffic safely. It’s mind-numbing, but not nearly enough, and he turns off on a highway going north at the last minute. He arrives on his dad’s porch more frozen meatsicle than man two hours later, guided by some instinct to flee to the second best home he knows. He knocks and waits, and when his dad cracks open the door, a flood of heat washes out to meet Lukas’ cold-chapped face, and all he can say is, “ _Dad.”_

 

 

 

He gets good and drunk in his childhood living room that night. It’s a terrible idea -- nearly every drinking memory he has, good or bad, is tied to Philip somehow -- but by the time he realizes this, he’s already sunk too deep into whiskey misery to come back out.

He misses Philip something fierce, knows he shouldn’t have run away like a coward; should’ve stayed and talked it out. Like an adult. Still, he’s not enough of an idiot to call him when he’s slurring his words and half out of his mind. He carefully types out a text instead, just to let Philip know he’s okay, that he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere. Roles reversed, he’d want the same. He stares at his screen for a long, long time afterward, but no response ever pings back.

 

 

 

He wakes the next morning with a heavy blanket tucked around his shoulders. His skull feels like it’s going to crack open, and he’s pretty sure he cried himself to sleep last night. His eyes are on fire. “Shit,” he groans.

“I see you got into the good stuff,” his dad’s voice drifts from the kitchen. He comes around the corner after a minute or two, coffee mugs in hand. He sets one down within Lukas’ reach. “Almost like you’re back in high school.”

It’s a joke, sure, but the both of them know he didn’t get this bad until the cabin.

He sits up. He owes his dad an explanation, and a good one, but he’s not even sure _what_ to say. _Sorry, Dad, but you were right. My high school boyfriend and I finally had the ‘we’re growing apart’ fight you warned me about three years ago. Can I stay here for the foreseeable future?_ “Philip and I… we had a fight.”

His dad sits down. “I know,” he says.

“You do?”

“You drove two hours to Tivoli on your motorcycle in a New York winter, and then proceeded to drink most of my good whiskey. I assumed.” He shakes his head. “You really worried me last night.”

His head throbs. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you tell Philip you’re here? That you’re safe?”

“Yeah… last night I… I… should I call him?”

“Did he hit you?”

“ _What?_ No!”

“Did you hit him?”

“Dad, what the hell--”

“Then do you think this relationship is worth fighting for?”

Lukas’ stomach swims. The quick, easy answer is _yes,_ always, but he thinks about it. Really stops and thinks. Tries to imagine his life without Philip in it -- his first boyfriend, the man he loves more than anything, his _best friend._

When he was seventeen and scared for his life, he did a lot of terrible shit to Philip, and a lot of mental gymnastics to justify them. But the idea of being _without Philip,_ even back then, gave him courage enough to tell the truth, bring the gun to Helen, and he knows he needs to buck up and do the same thing now. If it’s over for Philip, then it’s over. But he won’t let silence tell his side of things.

“Yeah,” Lukas says. “I do.”

 

 

 

He goes home.

The first thing he does is stop by his and Philip’s favorite take-away Chinese place -- he’s starving, first and foremost, and his dad’s post-fight advice always included _and don’t go home empty-handed._ Figures he can’t go wrong with fried rice and dumplings instead of flowers.

The deadbolt lock to their apartment always sticks, and it takes him a while to jimmy it open, holding bags and his helmet as he is, and when he finally shoulders his way inside, he knows the quiet homecoming surprise he intended on is gone.

“...Lukas?” It’s Philip’s voice, faint but distinct. Probably in the bedroom.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he calls back. He sets everything down in the kitchen, and pads to their bedroom, hovers in the doorway, unsure of his welcome. Philip’s on the bed -- on Lukas’ side, wearing a faded t-shirt that was once Lukas’ -- and he looks so miserable, chin trembling and mouth tight, that Lukas practically launches himself on the bed and pulls Philip into his arms.

“You left,” Philip says, fingers digging tight into Lukas’ back. “You _left._ ”

He cradles the back of Philip’s head, presses a tiny kiss behind his ear. “I’m an idiot… a total idiot. Philip--” He draws back so he can look him in the eyes, knows how important it is-- “I love you. More than anything. I didn’t leave because I didn’t care. I left because I was… because I was scared of losing you. I know you said--”

“I said a lot of shit,” he cuts in. “A lot of stupid shit.”

“Not stupid. Philip, we _are_ different now, and that’s _okay._ It’s been six years for us. That’s a long damn time. We’re gonna change and grow and I guess… I guess it just matters if you want to keep going with me, or without me.”

“Fuck,” Philip says, and swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “When did you get so eloquent?”

“Two hours from Tivoli. Not bad, huh?”

“No… not bad at all.” He shifts and scoots back so the both of them can sit facing one another on the mattress. Philip reaches for Lukas’ hands, links their fingers together like they used to when they were young; _younger_. “I thought about it all night. _Us._ ”

“And?”

“And I don’t want there to _not_ be an us. It’s just -- it’s always been you. And it feels like it’s…”

“Too good to be true?”

“That it’ll end. That it’ll _have_ to end because that’s just how it goes. We’re twenty-four and we have a fucking _joint bank account._ Like, who are we even?” He closes his heads, shakes his head a little. “Sometimes I can’t believe we’re here. That this is all real. And… I don’t know. I just got into my own head and freaked out.”

“I freaked, too.” Lukas wiggles his fingers. “But it’s real, and we’re here. This is us, baby. You, me… the motorcycle.”

“ _Molly.”_ Their fat, stubby-tailed cat.

He leans forward and hooks his finger into the collar of Philip’s shirt, pulls him into a sweet, soft kiss, tries to put every bit of how he feels against the seam of Philip’s mouth. They tip back, but not too far away, and Lukas smiles, the weighted knot in his stomach loosening for the first time since the fight. “By the way, I brought ‘I’m sorry’ noodles home,” he says.

Philip barks out a bite of a laugh, a true grin blossoming on his face. “You’re such a dork,” he teases. “Why didn’t you _lead_ with that?”

 

 

 

They climb out of bed together, hand in hand, and eat take-out straight from the container side-by-side in their tiny kitchen, Molly twisting between their ankles with her high-pitched meows. And though Lukas knows everything isn’t perfect and fixed and how it should be or always will be -- it’s still _good_ because they’re together.

Lukas learned a long time ago that fairy tales aren't real, but he also learned that what he has is so much better: something messy, real, and truer than anything offered in a dream. Love might not conquer all, but he doesn’t need it to. And he wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
